


The Cock on the Block

by Kim_Kardashian



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Humor, Insecurity, M/M, Older Yuuri, Roosters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-23 05:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kim_Kardashian/pseuds/Kim_Kardashian
Summary: Honestly, he doesn't know Yuuri very well. Yuuri is the complex cryptid with a rooster as a pet. But who is Viktor to judge? He has his priorities, and frankly, Yuuri is too cool for him.





	1. Chapter 1

Viktor looked at the burning tip, and though he wasn’t even halfway through the cigarette, he felt it did its job. He readjusted his baseball cap, and flipped through the book, calculating fifty more pages to go. His nasty annotations reminded him that he also had a paper to shit out by Thursday.

Even though the syllabus reassured another two weeks, it was better get this workload out of the way now than later. “Viktor, do you—“

“No, Chris, I don’t.”

“I didn’t even ask my question.”

“It’s bound to be a stupid one, and the answer is still no.” He loved and hated being in his apartment. It had been freshly painted before he moved (beige), the curtains were threadbare but fucking cool, almost vintage, and he enjoyed his own company because he enjoyed his existence. College made him fulfilled, and he was no longer under academic probation. It was hard to find a one-room apartment in this city, even a studio, but thanks to Phichit, who directed him to a problematic fave, who then spoke to the leasing office reserved a spot.

Two weeks later, and he had this creaky but still manageable one-bed, spacious (he would be living by himself), convenient cave. No one told him why people didn’t last long here, his neighbors gave him three months before he inevitably moved out. To his face, but that’s city folk for you.

The reason stood in front of his kitchen window. Yuuri was his name, and yes, Viktor checked his watch, it was five o’clock on the dot. Yuuri wasn’t the problem, he was actually hot and funny (something Viktor always kept in mind). It was his pet rooster, a black and sleek feathered little bitch who likes to cockle doodle doo at the buttcrack of dawn. Right on the buttcrack, and how Yuuri managed to get permission to have a rooster allowed as a pet, how he even got it in the first place, was still a mystery. Yuuri kept to himself, he was basically the complex cryptid.

He knew Yuuri was southern, the way he said “I’m from Georgia, but I don’t like peaches” made him want to die when they first met. Viktor still remembered Yuuri’s casual handshake, both arms inked completely, an old, black t-shirt with Courtney Love’s face. He was so different compared to Phichit, Phichit being a die-hard hipster in love with millennial pink and The Strokes, especially Vampire Weekend. He wore flower crowns unironically, and his signature pastel blue Tom’s always spotless. How Yuuri and Phichit hit it off was another story, one Phichit always recalled fondly with Heineken and body shots.

Yuuri let his rooster lead the way, on a leash, somehow, as it bobbed its little head forward. Viktor put his book down, always willing to watch this fuckening from a distance. _“Who’s my boy?”_ Yuuri crooned.

“Me, I can be your boy,” Chris whispered and Viktor shushed him even though it would be impossible for Yuuri to hear them. “What, you can’t deny it. He looks like a fucking god, a god with an actual moving cock.”

“Can you shut up?”

Yuuri turned around and saw them through the window. He grinned and waved, shooting Viktor a wink before heading around the hedges. Viktor waved back, ignoring Chris’s punch and appalled ‘ _you know him?_ ’. How he wished Yuri was here instead, but no. The universe didn’t work that way, and Viktor went back to his book, resting his elbow on the table, cigarette reset between his lips.      

“Do you think he’s a straightie?”

Viktor hummed. “Why don’t you ask _him?”_

“Okay.”

Before Viktor could reassess what he had done and the magnitude of that one word alone, Chris opened the door, it creaking loudly, and slicked his hair back. “Yo, Yuuri!”

Yuuri peeked back from the hedges and Viktor wanted to decapitate Chris in any way possible, but the deed had been done as Chris motioned Yuuri to come over. Wasn’t he dating some girl, why the hell was this happening? The rooster came as well, its head still bobbing to some non-existent song. But Chris was right, even wearing his pajamas, Yuuri looked hot. Like a model for GAP or Hollister, maybe Hot Topic. Definitely Hot Topic with that septum piercing. “Hey,” he said, still hesitant. The day was wonderful, unfortunately, Chris’s company was not.

“How’s your cock doing?”

Viktor picked another cigarette from his jean jacket to excuse himself from this conversation. Chris ran the ship, and they were heading for the iceberg with little warning. Like the Titanic. “I’m not sure if you’re referring to my genitalia or rooster.”

His lighter failed to ignite. Because his hands were shaking. Christ. “Both,” Chris answered breezily.

Yuuri pressed his mouth, frowning. Maybe he got this shit too often, maybe he was always emo and upset. He owns a shirt with Courtney Love’s face or whatever. Viktor had plenty of room for assumptions. However, he did not have room for Chris’s bold flirting. Not when he was reading a book he had to annotate. “They’re both okay, I guess. Don’t need Viagra just yet. Katsudon here’s been with me since he was a chick, so he’s not exactly looking for a lady friend.”

“Don’t you mean _eggsactly?_ ”

Yuuri didn’t respond.

Chris backtracked and Viktor bit down the urge to laugh. “Are _you_ looking for a lady friend?”

“Not eggsactly,” Yuuri said, clearly uncomfortable and begging to no longer be a part of this interaction. Chris had a habit of doing that to people. But that didn’t mean Viktor minded witnessing this. “Um, I have to go around—“

“I have a lady friend. Mila is her name, a Russian gal. If you ever want to join us, you’re more than welcome.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” Yuuri tugged at the leash gently, but Katsudon didn’t budge. Viktor felt bad for him, yet didn’t stop himself from appreciating Yuuri’s firm ground. And cute face.

“Unless you want it to be just me and you?” Chris continued, ruthless and soulless.  

Yuuri finally looked like he was ready to snatch the cigarette away from Viktor’s hand, almost telling Viktor to please rein in his friend. “You’re not my type,” he said, glancing at Katsudon as it pecked at the grass. “Viktor is.” Chris opened his mouth to say something else, but the rooster chose to be merciful and began to waddle in the opposite direction. Toward the hedges.

“Wow,” Viktor drawled, “you got so friendzoned. Not even, you were never friends.”

“But he likes dick, and that’s what really matters.”

“Right,” Viktor said, losing interest and bookmarking the page. He was in the mood for tea, so he rummaged through his cabinet, glad he had the tin full of green leaves. His cigarette made the kitchen almost surreal, like his existence itself wasn’t tangible. Chris shut the door, darkening and cutting the breeze.

The layout of this apartment was intimate. The kitchen was tiny, practically miniscule, as if he was pretend-adulting. It gave him the view of the entire complex, which were all identical brick buildings, uniform and distinguished by chipped, gold-plated numbers. Each apartment was one story, but Viktor had the blessing of being closest to 7-Eleven. There weren’t that many students here, it was surprisingly parents-and-two-children-maybe-a-dog oriented. Not that he cared, as long as the kiddies didn’t chaotically ruin his perpetually unhealthy sleep schedule, he was good. Cigarette with a side of Jane Austen good.

Viktor poured the hot water in his old flamingo mug, watching the water slowly become Shrek green. “You’re not even going to offer me some?”

“No. You’re on a diet you said.”

“You’re fucking heartless.”

Viktor shrugged. His hair was so long, he considered chopping it all himself. But one: he was no barber, and two: he was a coward. “I’m Russian,” he said.

Chris barked out a laugh. “You _swear._ You’re Russian- _American_ , the only Russian thing about you is that cigarette and your stupid Vkusno catchphrase. That’s all. And your mood swings, I’m surprised you don’t have _Lolita_ in your bookshelf. Nationalism and all that. Some Karl Marx. Be a Communist _at least.”_

“Shut up,” Viktor said with no bite, laughing. God, he loved Chris. Sometimes. “You’re right actually. I hate it when you are.”

“Yeah, you’re like vodka and orange juice, your mom is the real deal, straight up liquor. No juice. And a MILF.”

“This is my home, stop insulting me.” His mother was exceptionally beautiful, there was no denying that. The way she said “Viktor, fetch me that towel, I’m a delicate creature!” while she brushed her long, silky hair into a royal bun. Christ, he loved his mom too.

“I hope Yuuri actually comes around. He’s too attractive to _not_ get laid. Y’know?” Chris wrinkled his nose when Viktor slid a cup of tea. “I mean, how can he with that cock around 24/7?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know him. _I_ don’t even know him. He’s nice though, can’t really judge him.”

“He’s hot,” Chris repeated, as if this changed anything. “He’s like, I mean, you can’t just not notice.” Sometimes Viktor had to suppress the severe temptation to sock Chris, right on the nuts and tell him to please stop thinking with his penis. Just this once. Chris was a modern Emma, playing matchmaker like he existed for this sole purpose. Except Viktor had little patience for it now, and he had a paper to write.

“Yes, he’s very attractive,” Viktor said flatly, “I’m dying when I see his tattooed and fit body every morning, with his little Japanese metal playing cellphone and aggressive rooster.” He refused to call the rooster ‘cock’. Yuuri seemed young, by the looks of it. He had a round face, a pretty nice build, not too bulky, not too lanky. But Viktor had one approach and only one, observe, then initiate. And he had no time or energy for both.

“You should get to know him, he’s probably a serial killer. A hot one.”

“You’re not allowed in my house again. After this visit.”

Chris wrinkled his nose after a sip of tea. He should have made coffee instead, but Viktor will mourn the loss of a tea bag later. “Is Yuuri allowed?”

“Will you please let that go?”

It’s not like they had anything better to do, but still. Viktor prized his space and leisure time, especially when he was actually productive. He noticed Yuuri made the turn already and was heading back toward them. The rooster still…existed. Oddly enough. Yuuri caught his eye, straightening his glasses. Then without any shame, he gestured at Chris, who was now engrossed in a _Despicable Me_ sticker book Yuko’s daughter left behind, and flipped the bird. With a straight face, shaking his head. Viktor laughed out loud, and Yuuri gave him a barely there smile, heading back to his own apartment. His middle finger was surprisingly aggressive. Chris glanced up, confused. “What’s funny?”

Viktor smiled, already appreciating the world he currently inhabited. “Nothing, really.”    


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor wants the Cock God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be extremely short and nonsensical, but it got too long and complex in my head. sorry, it's not as """""funny"""" as the first chapter  
> Update: my friend says the maintenance guy no longer has the rooster. animal control took it

Yuko pressed her acrylic nails on his counter, a pamphlet in her hand. She was so short, but like Yuuri, bold with eye contact. Viktor offered her a cup of coffee, and she waved him off with a grin. “So, I packed the Go-Gurts in this bag, but be careful. If she tries to make you give her more than one tube, give her the sliced fruit instead. If that doesn’t work, Candy Crush keeps her busy. Maybe Netflix. Peppa Pig.”

Viktor nodded and let her daughters wander to the living room, Axel and Lutz settling on the couch. Loop plopped down in front of Viktor’s giant vinyl collection, her tiny fingers skimming down the titles. He babysits them five days a week, Monday to Friday, from four PM to eight PM. Saturdays and Sundays he’s at the pizzeria, a cashier with a bat under his register. It was in the seedy part of town, but it paid well and fed him for free. Yuko was a nurse at the hospital, and again, Phichit had been the one who told him about someone in dire need of a babysitter. Except no one wanted to look after triplets, much less _Yuko’s_ triplets. After the first week, he almost jumped out of his kitchen window and set himself on fire. But they’ve mellowed out since then, and he knows how to keep them busy.

It helped that he sometimes let them play at the complex park, their squeals loud enough to scare away other people. “Is Lutz still sick, or can she eat ice cream now?”

Yuko must have noticed his plea for help. She laughed, patting Viktor on the head. Even though she had to reach up. “Yes, she can. If it shuts her up, and there’s nothing else you can do.”

“Thanks.”

Many kisses and sighed “please, behave, girls” later, Yuko left, and Viktor stared at his living room, wondering if this was going to be him one day. A father with children, “I’ll be a hot dad”, he loved to remind himself, but instantly regretted this feeling when Loop pulled a record out.

“I want to listen to this,” she said, utterly serious. Lana del Rey’s face stared back at him. “But Uncle Yuuri calls her Anal del Rey.” Viktor couldn’t help it, he sputtered out a laugh and immediately controlled himself when Loop blinked and the weight of the joke hit him. “What? What does that mean?”

“Nothing, I just can’t imagine Yuuri saying that.”

“Why can’t we go to Uncle Yuuri’s house?”

Viktor smiled, and took the record from her. She eagerly watched him put it on the player, always insisting to position the needle herself. He didn’t know what song this was, but he sat on the couch, Lutz and Axel swinging their legs, eyes focused on the TV screen. “Because, Uncle Yuuri must be busy.”

“He never is,” Lutz said with conviction, eyes never diverting from Papa Pig. “He’s always on the phone. I think he broke up with his boyfriend. So he listens to the ocean.”

“The ocean?” Viktor couldn’t help but ask. Yuuri had a boyfriend? So many interesting facts at once, these girls knew Yuuri more than he did, and they weren’t even neighbors. As if reading his mind, Axel scowled at him.

“He’s our godfather. That’s why we know these adult things,” she said.

“And the ocean’s name is Frank,” Lutz added. Viktor loved children, not as much as margaritas obviously, but Yuko’s girls always reminded him to not take life so seriously. He was a sentimental fool.

“He listens to Frank Ocean,” Viktor corrected. “A singer. Not an actual body of water.”

“Do you have his music?” Loop asked, forgetting Anal del Rey altogether. “You need a haircut.”

He sighed, and closed his eyes. They weren’t begging for food or changing channels, so he had free time to think. Or whatever. The music lulled him, his couch was sinfully soft, like Yuri’s ass, and with only three hours of sleep in his system, his eyelids absolutely buzzed when he rested his head. Lolled it on the cushion.

If Viktor was ever asked what actually happened, he would say he blinked, and kept his eyes shut for far too long. He felt nothing. And what woke him up was the cold, sticky feeling of something on his shirt. His hands were covered in this mystery substance, and for a frightening moment, he thought it was semen (a nap tends to strike him after masturbating). But semen wasn’t this slimy, and it smelled sweet.

It was yogurt, a big glob of it smeared on his chest. And the girls were nowhere in sight. “Shit, shit. Not vkusno. Not vkusno.” His kitchen door was open, the bag of snacks Yuko brought looted and empty, the TV was turned off.

He looked at his watch, realizing he knocked out for almost two hours. Panic rose in his throat, and as if the situation couldn’t get any worse, there were safety scissors on his table. Along with his hair, all held together by his signature purple hair tie.

His hand brushed the back of his head, feeling strands, _short_ strands. They cut his hair. “Fuckitty fuck. I’m dead. They’re dead.” He stepped outside, terrified. They clearly weren’t in his home, and judging by the stilted cold, they’ve been gone for a while. “Girls! Loop! Lutz!”

No answer. What was he going to tell Yuko? _“Oh, yeah, we were listening to Anal del Ray, and they just handed over Yuuri’s dirty laundry. I took an accidental nap, and that was the last time I ever saw them. Also, thanks. I saved thirty bucks. They cut my ponytail off.”_

He couldn’t call Chris, and he didn’t want to yell like an idiot all over the street. He’ll have to go to the leasing office, tell them to show him the cameras, see where these little buttholes went. The less attention he brought to himself and his shitty babysitting skills, the better. He closed the door, and passed the houses with fear in each step. They all looked painfully symmetrical and open. He never went to church (“Church is for the weak, Vitya. Sin, but sin mindfully,” his mother always said), but he definitely started praying now. Families were out grilling, having a grand old time while he wilted inside, some waving to him, until an empty tube of GoGurt caught his eye. Yes, thank the lord. It was on the welcome mat, on _Yuuri’s_ welcome mat.

Of course. His heart slowed down and without thinking about it, he banged on the door with little mercy. _“Who’s dead?”_ Yuuri’s voice came from inside, until the door opened, eyes falling on Viktor. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

“Are the girls here?”

Yuuri had a wooden spoon in his hand, and he wore an apron that said “Wine Makes the Day Faster”. But what made Viktor lose his sanity was the way Yuuri stared at him, a stare that screamed _I’m disappointed in you, and if it were legal, I’d eat your dick for being a moronic shitstain._ Something along those lines. “How old are you, kid?”

 _Kid?_ Excuse me? Viktor bristled, but bit his retort. Now was not the time. “Twenty-one.”

“Okay. Well, you’re pulling that haircut. Not that you had much of a choice. You hungry?”

No. He really wasn’t. All traces of anxiety left him oddly full, and that nap meant nothing when exhaustion settled within him. But Yuuri didn’t even wait for him to answer, he simply stepped inside and expected Viktor to do the same. Chatter, distinct girly squeals came from the kitchen. Christ. With little energy left in his soul, and just grateful that he wouldn’t be arrested or responsible for a funeral (his own), he closed the door. He was instantly greeted by the scent of food and lavender incense. No rooster in sight. Yuuri’s home was much different, it was so— _lived in_. Obviously, but excessively. Like he spent no time elsewhere. There were posters, movies mostly (Reservoir Dogs, American Beauty). A very fierce Beyoncé looked at him. Nirvana. David Bowie.

The curtains were baby blue, everything was baby blue. Frank Ocean’s music was on (he could guess it was Loop who made that happen), and it smelled wonderfully. His mouth watered and stomach betrayed him. If only he set himself on fires ages ago.

Lo and behold, the source of his inner collapse all sat prim and proper. The table was set with juice boxes and Peppa pig themed plates. “Hi,” Loop said, toothy grin and all. “Do you like your haircut? We were waiting for you to wake up and surprise you but that took too long.”

This heavy sighing should be a part of his personality. Viktor wanted, no, he _needed_ a cigarette. Life was usually a strawberry smoothie, but there were clumps today. “Really?” Axel and Lutz were busy chewing and mumbling something to pay him any attention. As if they didn’t give him more than just a haircut.

Yuuri in his home, in control, was bizarre. Viktor watched him stir the eggs, his tattoos much brighter under the stove light. “It’s Thai-style coconut soup with eggs. The soup is actual garbage, but the eggs balance it out,” Yuuri said, not turning. “Plates are in the bottom cupboard, help yourself. Guava juice in the fridge, or water, whatever tickles your pickle.”

Tickles your pickle? Viktor shuffled around awkwardly, the fact that Katsudon and his little feathered presence nowhere to be seen made this a lot more surreal. He poked his own arm, just to make sure he was in the proper universe. “Thanks,” he said, not sure why. For saving his ass, or just feeding him, there were many things to be thankful about. The girls being alive for one thing.

“No, no. Just leave the file on my desk. No. It’s fine, I just need to do referrals.” Viktor looked up to see Yuuri’s phone pressed to his ear. He seemed agitated, and Viktor wondered what it could possibly be at this ungodly hour. “Fine, let me speak to her.” A pause. “Señora de las cinco, verdad? Usted es elegible, apenas mande su aplicación. Todo está en proceso, yo me encargo de eso. Sí. Sí, yo se.” Yuuri hummed, still tense, banging the saucepan aggressively. He flicked the flame, and grabbed the plate from Viktor’s hand without asking, serving him a mountain.

“It’s fine, Yuuri. I’m not that hungry—“

“Yes, you are. No, I’m not talking to you, Minako, it’s my neighbor. Jesus. Just tell her she’s eligible and I’ll be sending the approval letter within two weeks.” He hung up, and rubbed his forehead. Yuuri mumbled something under his breath, and Viktor realized that on the counter was a full glass of wine. “Can you pass that? Wait, never mind, let’s just sit down.”

Viktor never felt so fascinated, so out of place, and so useless. What would Chris say? _Offer a blowjob. Grab his cock, and when he’s confused, grab the rooster instead. Cook the rooster._ He settled next to Yuuri, taking a bite of the eggs to have something inane to talk about. “This is good,” he said, grinning and stuffing a lot more down his throat. “I didn’t know you could speak Spanish.” _You’re so stunning, murder me and pour vodka over my corpse._

Yuuri gulped the last of his wine, glancing at Viktor wearily. “It’s part of the job. Most of my clients are Spanish-speakers.” _I could be your client,_ Chris would gasp. Viktor wanted to murder his conscience.

“What’s your job?” There was a better way to phrase that, but Viktor didn’t care. The food was good, and the girls were still eating, and thank god his heart finally calmed down.

“Licensed social worker,” Axel proclaimed proudly, rehearsed many times probably, her pigtails somehow falling apart. “Uncle Yuuri helps save the world.”

“I wouldn’t say that. And don’t speak with your mouth full,” Yuuri said pointedly. Axel nodded, not the least bit put out.

“How did you learn Spanish?” Something shifting underneath Yuuri’s stare, his crooked grin, and Viktor looked back. “What?” Was there something on his face?

“Nothing. Just surprised. I had half a mind to let you suffer. Look for the girls mindlessly. But one, I’m not rude, and two, you had yogurt on your shirt. A pitiful sight.” Yuuri shook his head, and stood up again to remove his apron. “I remember being your age.”

“You act like you’re extremely older than me. You look twelve.” Viktor didn’t like being called kid. It reminded him of shitty high school teachers and his first job. But Yuuri snorted, not the least bit offended, directing his attention to the girls.

“Go to the living room. Watch whatever you want.”

“Can we watch Animal Planet?”

“Whatever tickles your pickle.” They scurried off, plates abandoned, juice boxes crushed flat, and Viktor tried not to squirm in his seat. Thankfully he still had food to distract himself with. He was used to being under the spotlight, just not under Yuuri’s scrutiny, which was a lot more terrifying. His rooster usually made him so approachable, and just weird. Weird enough to seem exposed. “I’m twenty-six. And I did study abroad, first Spain, then South America for my degree. Japan was too…small.”

Here he was, not in his apartment, and certainly not in his tiny kitchen, writing shitty poetry, smoking a cigarette, or contemplating the meaning of his existence. _Yuuri is too hot to not get laid, y’know?_

He realized Yuuri had a beauty mark on his chin, a tiny breakout on his left cheek. Maybe he was staring too long, long enough for Yuuri to snap his fingers. “Do you want to have a mini smoke break? Yuko won’t be here for another forty minutes.”

He inhaled his guava juice, looked at Loop gesturing wildly, and looked at the lighter in Yuuri’s hand. The choice was obvious. “What about your rooster?” He asked dumbly.

Huffing out a laugh and hating himself for his bumbling mess of word garbage, Yuuri dangling a cig on the corner of his lip was probably the most attractive thing he’s ever seen. “You ask too many questions, Viktor. Katsudon is fine. He’s in the back, probably pecking away.”

“O-Okay.” Why was he stuttering? He probably seemed awkward. Was he that unnerved? To use an actual cock to cockblock himself.

“Okay what?”

“Let’s go outside.” Please.

-

“Do you want Diet Cock or regular?”

Viktor summoned his inner Makkachin, and if it were legal, he would slaughter Christophe Giacometti III. Makkachin, a beloved poodle that lived with his mom, embodied the purest sunshine and never dared bark at anything. And he tried to live by her example when the universe decided to instigate. Viktor also attempted to fix his hair, after the whole hair cut debacle he honestly had no idea why he didn’t just go to the barber. But Yuuri said he was killing it (not exactly his words or whatever), and the barber was across town. Way too far to walk. “I’m thirsty.”

“Oh, I know you are,” Chris bit back, tossing him the can of regular Coke. It was a surprisingly long day, and ever since he accidentally spilled the Beans (meeting Yuuri, eating with him, _smoking_ with him), Chris was relentless. Not only was he, but Viktor’s feelings as well.  Maybe he was reading it in too much, but now Yuuri greeted with him with a tip of his cigarette, or they chatted at the leasing office when rent came up.

Like, wow. Now Yuuri speaking Spanish was part of his fantasies (when he polished the rocket, not that he ever had fantasies in the first place). “If you’re so obsessed with our Yuuri, why don’t you help him get some action?” Viktor asked after a gulp of soda. It buzzed on his tongue, that’s how cold it was.

“Because,” Chris said, running a hand through his hair, “I’m taken, and you’re not. It wouldn’t hurt both of you.”

Viktor sighed, and wondered if this is what his life was meant to be. Talking shit (?) about his hot neighbor, who also happens to have a rooster as a pet, and is a trilingual professional. And what was he? A twenty-one-year-old broke college student who is considering majoring in philosophy (but is actually majoring in law because paper is his passion)? Seriously, if hypothetically, Viktor decided to look at this from the perspective of a Monopoly gameboard, which he does frequently, Yuuri owns all the railroads. And what does Viktor own? A measly street, pays the luxury tax all the time. Completely different players on a different level. “He has a career, and if you really want to play matchmaker, get him someone his age. Or whatever.”

“His age?” Chris repeated. “How old is the Cock God?”

The Coke went down the wrong pipe, and Viktor tried to breathe again without making his eyes water. “Don’t call him that. He’s twenty-six.”

He could practically feel Chris deflate, because they don’t know anyone older than twenty-four. Plus Viktor didn’t want to seep in disappointment because Yuuri was, well. He’s perfection. “It’s alright,” Chris said slowly, even though it wasn’t. “He’s an adult, I can’t believe he’s older than us. I want to look like that when I grow up.”

The Coke can mocked him. “Yeah. Me too.”


	3. Chapter 3

His insides decayed as his soul did, and for a split second he considered snuffing out his cigarette, but that would be a waste of money and frankly, too much energy. Case studies and technicalities, throw in some politics, some Allen Ginsberg quotes. He was ready to explode. His brain was churning and overstuffed with information, all of which he had to memorize for a practical. Viktor was never a devoted student, or devoted at all really. He just enjoyed existing, rubbing Makkachin’s belly and calling it a day.

Except Chris, Otabek, and Yuri often loved to remind him that alcohol existed, but alcohol was money, and money was scarce. He was saving up for a car, insurance wasn’t cheap, and he had no credit. The Russian part of him always caved in though, simply because cheap beer, a sweet cigar, and utter disregard for life made watching Futurama at 3 AM almost romantic. Stubble on his chin screamed _I am a sad, sad manchild with an exceptional sex drive._

“Look at my yard,” Yuri would say, gesturing wildly while holding the ugliest cat Viktor’s ever seen (the cat itself was physically cute but it was an asshole, a scratch machine). “I’m a farmer, and this is where I cultivate my fucks. And what do you see?” He’d ask, straightening his red glasses.

“Nothing, just grass,” Viktor would reply a bit wary.

“Exactly,” Yuri would snap, holding the cat closer to his cheek. “I have no fucks. They’re out of season, I am a farmer of fucks, and I have none.”

Granted, Viktor never felt so offended in his life, but agreed to accompany Yuri to Taco Bell at 2 AM anyway. Everything tended to happen after he was done babysitting. Today would not be one of those days, he will nap until his will to live returned.

The only highlight of this week would be his package from Amazon, and yeah, that’s all. At least he sort of figured his hair out, but there was no denying that it was chopped off by a kid with safety scissors.

The complex coming into view, he had to contain himself when he saw the familiar hunched figure, the Cock God himself.

He’s never seen Yuuri with a collared shirt, and he’s never seen him sitting on his porch. Ever. Yuuri only went outside to smoke, or to walk Katsudon. That’s it. Sometimes to water his petunias. “Hey,” he said. It’s been weeks since they’ve last spoken, and two months since they had dinner together. He noticed Yuuri’s hair had gotten shaggier, his glasses had a new scratch, but his shoes were polished like diamonds.

Yuuri looked up, a bit startled. “Oh. Hey. How’s it going?”

Viktor didn’t expect this to go further than a word, judging by the familiar flip in his stomach and Yuuri’s undivided attention. “Sleep. Futurama or the Powerpuff Girls. The 90s version, not the reboot. Maybe Domino’s, maybe cup noodles.” Word garbage just spilled without stopping, his ears heated up, and now he wondered if being a lawyer would be wise when sleep-deprived.

But Yuuri cracked a smile, leaning on the palms of his hands. Viktor could make out the boxer elastic under those khakis. “That’s quite…an extreme. I personally enjoy watching Chowder when I don’t want to think about anything.”

“I’m Panini.”

“I’m Truffles.”

“What are you doing outside, Truffles?”

Yuuri sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with what Viktor could tell was embarrassment. That shirt did little to hide that gym-crafted body. Why was his mind like this? “I locked myself out. The leasing office opens in like three hours, so I’m just sitting it out. Um. That’s…yeah. My life right now.”

This was it. He could invite Yuuri to his home, they could recreate that dinner scene, maybe talk again. Yuuri could do the talking, he didn’t mind being the listener for once. But no, those fantasies flurried away, became pixie dust when Yuuri looked at him curiously and he looked back. “Do you maybe want to go somewhere? Like downtown, or whatever. If you’re free.”

 _Oh, I’m free. So free._ “I don’t have a car,” Viktor said, instantly hit with the reality check that Yuuri was a fully-fledged adult with a credit score, a job—no, a career and advanced degree. Not a carless, degreeless, careerless, broke Panini. Yuuri was Truffles. With a rooster. 

“But I do. It’s Phichit’s car, but he owes me after projectile vomiting on my bed.”

Viktor pressed his messenger bag closer to his side. Perhaps he was dreaming. “Yeah, let’s hit the world.”

“Okay.” Yuuri stood up, and cracked his back, wincing and groaning at once. His shirt hugged all the right places. “I’m so old.”

“No, you’re not,” Viktor bit back instantly, hating how hasty and meek that sounded. “You’re twenty-six, you’re still in your twenties. Not even close to thirty. Or forty. Not even fifty.” That was feeble and pretty pathetic.

Yuuri simply raised an eyebrow, tugging his sleeves to his elbows, loosening his tie. “I’m in my mid-twenties, then. Since you’re suddenly concerned about my self-esteem.” What a god.

They walked behind the giant gate, Yuuri approaching a red Mini Cooper and Viktor making sure he kept his eyes above Yuuri’s hips. Maybe he hasn’t beat the meat in a while. No, he did. Yesterday. After watching some dolphin documentary. “This is definitely not my car,” Yuuri whistled, breaking his masturbatory thoughts. “I would never get anything in this hideous color. Phichit may have style, but not any taste.”

Jesus Christ. “And you do?”

Yuuri scoffed. “Of course. I’m garbage, but I have _eggcellent_ taste in what’s _not_ garbage.” They got in the car, its small size apparent in how close he was to Yuuri. It smelled like Paris Hilton’s perfume (Viktor was very well-acquainted with this scent sadly), and it was full of loose change, stray candy wrappers, cigarette butts. “He’s so gross, but he’s checked my anus for hemorrhoids so we’re even.”

Viktor choked, pulling his bag closer to his chest. “Is it because, y’know?” His arm went up in a fisting motion.

 _“Oh, god,”_ Yuuri almost wheezed, accidentally honking the car. “No, no, and don’t you ever do that again. I’m a southern gent.”

Straightening his glasses and fighting a firecracker smile, Viktor turned the other way, letting the window roll down. Hemorrhoids, huh? “Southern gents can enjoy the powers of anal,” he said without an ounce of faltering. They weren’t even on the road yet, but he liked that unhinged expression on the Cock God. Yuuri always had some smartass comment up his sleeve, or something remarkably plain that it sucked all words from Viktor’s synapses.

“I considered taking you to the barber to fix that bird’s nest. But your mug makes up for any potential flaws.”

“I have plenty of flaws,” Viktor grinned, smoothing the threads of his jeans between his thumb and forefinger. “Let’s head there then.”

The engine revved up and some pop song played the moment it did. “As long as you don’t mention anal sex again, I’ll take you anywhere.” Yuuri fiddled with the radio, Viktor mesmerized as if he’s never seen anything like it before. Energy rediscovered and traveling through him, all exhaustion and build-up of adenosine stopped, his body was alert.

Yuuri sped through the streets, dilapidated brick buildings and anonymous graffiti fluttering faster than Viktor’s stomach. Taco Bell, prom dress shop, tailor, vape shop. Taking another turn, they stopped in front of YAKOV’S CUTS, a hole in the wall establishment Viktor avoided like the plague.

“Parking is terrible here,” Yuuri muttered. He was right. The downtown district was packed at this time, and it was a miracle, a sixteen-minute miracle until they finally found a spot. He almost high-tailed it and sprinted away, but he swallowed his apprehension and sudden need to silently impress Yuuri when they entered the barber shop. The smell of musk and cigar smoke, it being sickly sweet, instantly reminded Viktor of the time Yakov accidentally kicked his scrotum.

This was years ago, but he knew his children will still feel the echoes of pain he experienced. Yakov never let him forget it, called him Blond Balls. Instead of the Nikiforov Boy, which Viktor would have preferred honestly. “Yuuri, can we go to another barber?”

“Why?” They sat down on the plaited couch, Yuuri immediately picking up a copy of Women’s Health magazine.

“Because—“

“Blond Balls! My boy, you’re a man now,” Yakov huffed, slapping Viktor’s back like one would slap dough. “You were a wee little boy,” the man said roughly and gestured with his pinky. “But now—” he pointed his ring finger— “a man. Are you still using vkusno? Is that still your thing?” He forgot about Yakov’s thundering Russian accent, his beet red face, his bowler hat and flask of tequila he kept in his shirt pocket. Yuuri blinked, clearly still registering ‘Blond Balls’ and connecting the dots that Blond Balls referred to Viktor.

“It still is. Vkusno is beautiful,” he said, determined to not let the embarrassment consume him. Why was the world in dire need to shame him in front of Yuuri?

“And who’s this gentleman with you?”

Reddening, but confident all the same, Yuuri put down the magazine and held his hand out. “Yuuri Katsuki. Very happy to meet you, sir.”

Yakov peered at him with the Ultimate Squint. “Aren’t you the one who came for that crackhead the other day?”

A watery smile later and clearly not expecting that, Viktor tried not to roar in laughter as Yuuri blinked owlishly at the sudden question. “Yeah, that was me. Phichit’s not a crackhead though—“

“Dresses rather stupidly I’d say,” Yakov murmured, scratching his five o’clock shadow. “Youngers these days wearing chino pants. Don’t you be one of them, Vitya. Squishes the junk rather too much.” Yuuri blanched, establishing that this was all a one-sided conversation.

It always would be with Yakov. You could be the Pope and he’d still do most of the talking. Viktor nodded, praying that Yakov would please shut up and stop mortally wounding his soul. “I need a haircut,” he said pointedly, and could barely stop the yelp that left him like a gust of wind when Yakov ruffled his scalp.

“You’re greasy, Vitya. I see dandruff.”

“It’s not dandruff, it’s gel, you’re making it—“

Without any preamble he was shoved to the overstuffed chair, the black cloak around his neck in less than a second. “Who cut your hair, boy? Looks like it was chopped off by a five-year old.”

Viktor could hear Yuuri’s poor attempt in stifling his laughter, but he kept a straight face as Yakov began to snip. “It wasn’t,” he managed to say, cringing. “You’re the reason people think we’re communists. Do you treat all your customers this way?”

Yakov rumbled out a chuckle. “Looks like you’re the communist considering your southern buddy over there is Japanese.”

“Can we please not make any references to World War II?” Yuuri sighed, flipping through National Geographic. “Although you’re right sir, I am Japanese.”

“And the crackhead?”

“Phichit is Thai.”

“You from Texas?”

Viktor closed his eyes, letting Yakov fix what he must. His neck was given a spritz of cold water, then combed over. He will not take part in this conversation. “No, I’m from Georgia. Folks are from Cali, but they moved to South Carolina, then Georgia when they were young.”

“I love sushi,” Yakov said gravely. “Was that offensive to say?”

“No, sir.”

“I like you, son. You respect me, unlike this little turd here. His hair is receding and he can’t bring me a cup of coffee when I call.”

Viktor snapped his eyes open, ready to retort when Yakov pulled his head down to even out the sides. “My hair is not receding,” he said to no one in particular.

Yakov ignored him. “How’s Svetlana? You treating her well? Your mother thinks you’re perfect, but I beg to differ.”

“She’s fine,” Viktor grumbled, feeling like a child. Probably watching _The Bachelor_ , her parakeet on her shoulder, his father moisturizing her legs. He hated himself for this train of thought, but it was the godawful truth. This haircut was taking a decade, and when he finally looked at the mirror, he was surprised to like what he saw. Yuuri hummed in appreciation as well, his fingers threading through his new bangs.

He tried not to react in front of Yakov, who simply raised an eyebrow when Yuuri took out his wallet and put down two crisp twenties. Double the actual price of the haircut. His cheeks burned, he knew what it seemed like, and couldn’t help it when Yuuri gave him that dazzling smile again. Sleeves rolled up, tattoos exposed, cigarette unlit between his lips. What a Cock God! Yakov pat his shoulder, mouthing _Safe penetration, Vitya_ while Yuuri looked for the keys and his phone. They left the shop, and had that airless feeling that ricocheted inside him only magnified when Yuuri glanced at his watch. Like an adult.

“We have time to eat. Do you want to, or you want to go back home?”

“Food.”

That wasn’t hard to decide. More time to hang out, or more time for him to writhe in loneliness with his right hand. Yuuri nodded, clearly pleased with the answer. “What are you in the mood for?” He asked, heading towards Main Street. Streams of smoke left his nostrils and Viktor shrugged, reassured by the cloud of nicotine that instantly calmed him.

“Mexican?”

“Yeah.”

Driving in silence, his hair perfect and better than it’s ever been before, Yuuri humming along to Fergaliscious and attention on the road, he almost forgot he’d be babysitting in two hours. Sure, he could be taking a nap right now, but whatever. They parked in front of La Esquina, a popular spot with authentic food. According to Yelp anyway.

It wasn’t weird flipping through a paper menu, Yuuri sipping his _agua de tamarindo_ , making conversation with the waitress who was ogling Yuuri’s face and casually lowering her voice, fanning her non-sweating cheeks. Viktor didn’t know what they were talking about, but he tried to busy himself with the options, _trying_ the word. He settled for tacos, and Yuuri did as well, grinning when they had another basket of tortilla chips and green salsa on the side.

“She wants your number,” Yuuri suddenly said, chewing on the tip of his straw. “She can’t speak English, so if you need a wingman, I still have it in me. I think.”

That made a mental halt. Wow. Maybe it was the hair. “No thanks.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, middle finger fiddling with his septum ring. “Why not? She’s _hermosa_.”

“What does that mean?” The way it rolled on Yuuri’s tongue. Vkusno.

“Beautiful.”

“I’m not into women,” he replied, tone bland, chest humored when Yuuri opened his mouth, then closed it. “But I appreciate your help. Nothing’s happening any time soon though.” What was it with people trying to set him up lately? First Chris, with Yuuri, and now Yuuri with some cute Hispanic girl. Did he reek of desperation and loneliness?

Looking crestfallen and pensive, Yuuri the Cock God swished an ice cube in his mouth. “Well, I can give you advice regarding men. I’m not an attractive person, but you are. I’m not great at relationships _either,_ which is a bit ironic considering my job.”

“You just broke up with your boyfriend?”

Choking on his drink, Yuuri’s nose reddened as he gasped. “You have to stop it with those questions, Viktor. You’re going to give me hernia.”

“The girls told me, that’s why.”

“The girls?” Yuuri repeated, frowning. “What girls?” A pause. “Oh, _the_ girls.” A scowl. “I love them, but Axel has to stop it with her gossiping habit. I never had a boyfriend. Just this guy I went on a couple of dates with.”

“Why though? Was he a walking anus? Did Katsudon hate him?”

He has never seen Yuuri belt out a laugh, or seen Yuuri smile so much in so little time, and being the sole reason for it. He wouldn’t mind being murdered by Yuuri and having his corpse looted for valuables. “No, and yes. He was okay, but he was too aimless. I want somebody with priorities. I made the mistake of thinking things would fall into place and they didn’t. I had a girlfriend for two years, then a guy for three. I have a degree now, but dating is a lot more different. School,” Yuuri began to gesture wildly, glasses askew, “sort of gives you the hunting ground. You meet somebody, cool, you talk to them, they’re pretty interesting, you’re both dying and on the relatively same era of your life. Lots of overlapping. But then you graduate, things…change, to some extent, you lose touch, sort of like high school, only now you’re in the Real World. And all walks of life make it hard. You have to have something superficial in common, and then the substance comes in. I just think I’m not interesting. Tried Tinder, Grindr, the basics. But I feel sleazy. And I’m lame.”

“What about Katsudon?”

“What _about_ Katsudon?” Yuuri echoed emphatically. “Seriously, I feel like you’re only talking to me because of my rooster.”

Viktor grinned, leaning in. “You didn’t say whether Katsudon hated him.”

“I give you an entire spiel of advice and my insecurities, and this is what you have to say?”

“Yeah.”

Yuuri grinned, twirling a tortilla chip in salsa. “Katsudon hated him, yeah. It was cute, but still.”

“So why don’t you use him as a pick-up line?”

Now he was intrigued, Viktor knew. “Pick-up line? Like what exactly?”

Viktor watched the waitress bring them their dishes on a platter, the smell making his mouth water. “Like, you want to see my cock? Then you send a picture of him.” Yuuri squeaked, but he persisted. “Or, my cock is free, want to help me find it? You ruffle my cock. I would never eat my cock, would you? I am the Cock God—“

“Okay, Viktor, I get it. Lots of cock jokes. Thanks.”

-

Viktor began to refer to his new life as the Cock Flood. Not really, Chris came up with the term after they had undercooked go-go taquitos from 7-Eleven. But now that every time Viktor ate a taco, he thought about his New Wingman, and also contemplated whether or not their garden of friendship was growing.

The girls knew he was well-acquainted with their godfather, demanding weekly trips to his apartment. Usually a bit bashful, Yuuri would welcome them in with dinner he had just made, setting the table, then nap for half an hour on the couch. Viktor would just watch TV or catch up on some paper for recitation he’s been neglecting, still jarred when Axel had to remind him that her dad’s ready to pop in any minute. And that they were still in Yuuri’s dim-lit kitchen, snacking on his salt and vinegar potato chips.

Chris liked to stop by sometimes despite Yuuri’s glowering. Even though he was responsible for the cock jokes, the pick-up lines, the sin Yuuri often tried to avoid. As the days blended with one another, concluded with a long child-filled evening, and Viktor’s nerves frayed after plenty of readings, he couldn’t believe it when midterms finally began to strike.

Yakov’s pretty bold claim about his thinning hair came true, he was brushing his teeth and combing through his bedhead, feeling strands easily loosen out. It horrified him and he prayed Yuuri wouldn’t notice, that no one would notice. His glasses were crooked, always smudged with who knows what. Constantly caffeinated and hyped up, but also suffering through massive diarrhea, Yuuri was there to offer him help. Like trips to the 24-hour diner, or cruising to the state park, only to sit on the shore of its river, throwing rocks or avoiding intimidating ants.

Katsudon stopped trying to establish dominance whenever he stopped by, often to drop over Yuuri some apples or a quick hello.

But Chris knew, Yuri knew, Mila knew. They KnewTM. Knew that his neighborly acts of kindness were layered with newfound attraction toward the Cock God, but he downed these seedy doubts with a shot of cheap vodka and microwaved Hot Pockets.

“I have a date in three days, and I’m nervous. Collapsing, actually,” Yuuri said after lighting his cigarette. Bags under his eyes meant a night full of referrals and app skimming, He hated how his brain had catalogued mannerisms and habits, likes and dislikes, but he supposed that’s what happens when you like someone. Every insignificant detail and aspect was under the spotlight, scoped out and micro-pointed like a stiletto heel. “He’s really nice. Never knew I needed a cliché coffee date before turning thirty.”

Viktor kicked the rock with his boot, cracking each finger. “What’s he like?” The most basic question, but could easily be the worst answer with its countless possibilities.

“He’s an accountant. Two years younger than me, but he likes Jane Austen. So I’m hooked.”

The rock was suddenly not interesting. “You like Jane Austen?” He tried not to be excited even though he just reread _Pride and Prejudice_ last night. Vexed, that’s what he was for this faceless, nameless accountant. Channeling his inner Mr. Darcy proved to be a taller hurdle than expected. Christ. The Cock God is romantic, Viktor wanted to call his mom. His mom gave pretty good advice, ready to spit it out at any time. She was a walking Yelp reviewer, her gel-coated nails and clean cuticles prim and pretentious. She’d tell him how to snatch a man, but she would also call him stupid for not figuring it out himself. _“The stupidity is from your father,”_ she’d say. _“I have a brain and I use it!”_

Yuuri squished the filter and nodded meekly. His hair was absolute chaos, curling a lot more. Viktor couldn’t quite believe Yuuri religiously straightened his hair every morning like some dedicated drummer in a rock band. “My hair is the only thing I care about,” he had said after two glasses of wine. Thoughts of racial disparities and gentrification circled his mind, along with his Cock God-centric romanticism. “Yeah, Jane Austen is a fave of mine. One of my clients gave me her copy after I helped her find a shelter. It was her only possession and I couldn’t believe it.”

Viktor nodded, catching the lip twitch, nonchalance failing him. “I would say I’m Mr. Darcy, but I’m Lydia. The shame of my family.”

Yuuri raised his brows, leaning on his elbow. “How? You’re going to be a lawyer.”

“And I’m an aspiring writer.”

“Really?” Not that he ever told anybody that. But whatever.

-

The sheet tangled with his thigh, sweat covered his forehead in a greasy mess, hair tangled. Without thinking twice, he sat up and opened his window. Restless and neck cramped, Viktor stretched and picked up his phone.

He was tagged on Twitter to some weird meme, the telltale signs of Chris being awake at this ungodly hour. He looked at the text.

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _crying but my dick is still hard lol :p_

Viktor rubbed his eyes to make sure his brain didn’t deceive him. Nope, Chris really sent him that.

_Its 3 am u fool_

A ding. Then a cockle doodle doo broke his suspenseful silence. Viktor whipped his head up, sticking his head out the window. Yuuri could also be awake. Maybe not, but he could head over. Or Katsudon just happened to be in the yard.

 _Should i head over to yuuri’s place ??_ He hit send before instant regret washed over his existence.

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _as a wise man once said “its 3 AM u fool”_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _is he even awake_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _nevermind the cockk god never rests_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _you should just ask him out lmaoo its gettin sad ;)_

_Really don’t think that’s a good idea_

_He has a date tomorrow_

**[Chris the Manwhore]** _then pray it goes horribly wrong and he falls into ur arms like princess peach_

_I’m not an asshole_

**[Chris the Manwhore]** _viktor ur pissing me off_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _stop being stupid_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _he might surprise u_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _anyway, g2g I have an exam tmmrw prayin for u and ur cock master_

 **[Chris the Manwhore]** _;))))_

His worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ stayed on his desk, bookmarked toward the end. When Elizabeth was conflicted for being in Pemberley after realizing she loved Darcy. Heading over to Yuuri’s just because he couldn’t sleep was stupid. That’s what it all watered down to. He scratched his arm, and leaned on his chair. If he can’t sleep, he might as well work on his research.

Midterms and mid-papers overfilled his schedule plenty, he didn’t have time to be toying with doubt or sharing memes with Chris.

But there was no question about it. He’ll ask Yuuri out on a date, but only if his date was a disastrous success.

-

The third Dr. Pepper and dozens of mulberries later, he had like three hours of sleep to account for. Leaves scrunched underneath his boots, hands fisted in his pockets, and glasses slipped down his nose. He had received a text forty-seven minutes ago, one that rattled his brain ( _Can you come over please? I need a fake therapist_ ). Possibilities were endless, his focus split itself in so many directions like a hydra. His hurried stroll took him to Yuuri’s apartment, Yuuri’s grin ear-splitting and so familiar. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to be here this quickly.” Viktor took his features in, the flushed complexion, dilated eyes, hands clumsily flickering his lighter. In other words, Yuuri was definitely not sober.

“How was your date?” His poor attempt to sound casual would’ve been noticed by the Sober Cock God, but the Cock God was clearly not on his five senses, and Katsudon waddled around, perching on a stray pillow.

“Not great. He spoke about himself too much, then asked if I was open to the idea of a threesome. Because he has a girlfriend.” Yuuri spat _girlfriend_ like one would say vore or pineapple porn. Viktor sat on the couch, the lavender incense and cigarette smoke blending into a uniform haze. The couch dipped next to him, Yuuri’s eyes closed and chest rising. Viktor didn’t think about it, he took the cigarette from Yuuri’s lips and brought it between his own, letting a cloud form between them. Katsudon, probably sensing something heavy in his little rooster mind, waddled back outside.

“No second date?” Viktor teased. A pillow was slapped on his stomach, Yuuri got back up and served himself another glass of wine. Then gulped it all down, dark eyes endless and heavy.

“No. And I haven’t been kissed in so long. Never thought I’d miss it. Intimacy isn’t overrated. I think I’m just lonely.” The buzz of the Stephen Hawking documentary did little to comfort, so Viktor switched the channel, gladly accepting SpongeBob.

“Come sit down.”

Wearily, and maybe just a bit too unsteady, Yuuri plopped back down, long legs draping over the coffee table. His body heat and cologne made concentrating on Spongebob a little harder, but not impossible. “I like SpongeBob.”

Viktor licked his lips. It wouldn’t be the stupidest thing he’s ever done. Probably not the last, and what the hell? “Do you want to be kissed? Right now?” He didn’t turn around to look at Yuuri’s face, probably shocked, but hopefully not disgusted or uncomfortable. It would break what little confidence he had. Only the Cock God stuttered his bravado, unhinged his senses and just halted all functionality that normally occurred in his brain. But he also liked spending time with him. It was so easy to be with Yuuri. So easy to just be, and maybe it was superficial attraction at first, but not anymore.

“Yes.” It came out as a gasp, but it was the only incendiary spark he needed to turn around. He took his time, because this might not ever happen again. Yuuri was vulnerable and so, so very open to the idea, maybe the alcohol overpowered his normally strong will, but Viktor would not let this chance slip away like sand between his fists. Nope, he was going to smooch and smooch long.

Canoodle as long as Yuuri was open to the idea. Even if it made things awkward in the future. If it made Yuuri embarrassed to walk his rooster around the hedges, around the block.

He grabbed Yuuri’s hand, it being smaller than his own. His palm was warm, soft. Just like he imagined. Yuuri was looking at him, expectant, but also covered in a veil of desire. His bottom lip pink, glasses slipping down. Viktor grabbed the both sides of his face, breathing in the wine, the cigarette, and the lavender.

Closing his eyes, Yuuri stayed still, clearly waiting and willing. Fuck. Viktor didn’t know what to do, he’s never been nervous, never been so afraid of a blunt no, but he memorized the map of Yuuri’s face anyway, like one would do before jumping off a cliff. The dimple on his right cheek, the beauty mark on his chin, the slope of his nose. Uneven brows, one of them had been stitched before. The scar near his ear.

Viktor forgot he wore his glasses, they clunked when he pressed his mouth to Yuuri’s. But Yuuri didn’t care, only whined in the back of his throat, and Viktor loved it. It got wet very fast, Yuuri leaning back, sinking into the couch and Viktor leaning forward, overpowering on the couch. Yuuri grazed his neck, moaning, Viktor felt the septum ring on his cheek, tongue on pulse. His hearing sharpened, every sound magnified, the way Yuuri breathed heavily, his stubble grazing on Yuuri’s soft skin, it all rushed down there, and his jeans slowly resembled a prison, restraining his arousal as it pulsed and ached. Curious exploration, mild foreplay? He made sure to mark his presence, tasting sweat and salt on his tongue. Yuuri digging his fingers every time he did it, again and again. It took less than another few seconds to realize that Yuuri was extremely handsy and supremely vocal, not that he minded. 

But a kiss was all he offered, even as Yuuri bit down and sucked on his skin, Viktor doing the same whenever a shy gasp stoned his ego. Dry humping was all he could really do, before he pulled back, lips burning, skin sweaty and flushed.

Yuuri didn’t fare much better. His glasses had fallen off at some point, collar ruffled up, his hair a rooster’s nest. His pink lips had a coated sheen, scattered red splotches all over his throat. But if there was one thing that definitely caught his attention, it was the way Yuuri tried to cover his crotch with his hands. They did it. Viktor did it. He finally made out with the Cock God. What was he going to tell Chris? _It was cocktacular. We had complete privacy._ “I think… I let the wine get to my head. You’re—” Yuuri closed his eyes, squeezing them tight— “twenty-one. Young. I should’ve known better. I understand if you never want to speak or associate yourself with me again.”

His stomach somersaulted, erection dying quicker than Pepe the Frog. “What are you talking about? We’ll go on a date.”

“A date?” Yuuri looked affronted, and Viktor couldn’t take him seriously with his septum ring turning the wrong way. “Why would you possibly want to go on a date with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Stop repeating everything I say.”

Yuuri coughed out a choked laugh, pained and disbelieving. “I’m almost thirty years old? I’m the most boring individual you could ever encounter, my face is hideous, _especially_ my nose, and you’re young. Perfect, sunshine incarnate and I’m a walking funeral. Viktor, you could do much better than an insipid, cock-walking loser.”

“And I’m a young, sleazy, lonely twenty-one-year-old man-child studying law and barely scraping by? Amethyst crystal collector? Chronic masturbator? Your point?”

“You collect amethysts?”

Viktor nodded, wiping his glasses. “We’re going on a date. You’re fascinating. Truly the definition of vkusno.”

“What? What does that even mean? I want you to think about this. Seriously. You’re probably confusing admiration with romantic attraction—“

“I’m an adult,” Viktor cut in severely. “I can make my own decisions, the only one worrying about age is you.”

That sobered him up, Viktor could tell. Yuuri stayed quiet, and Viktor relaxed his back on the cushion, both watching Katsudon bobbing back in. SpongeBob was now gone, replaced with Rugrats. “Katsudon really likes you. He doesn’t get nervous when you’re around. Or interrupt us.”

“Meaning?”

A heavy and thick sigh, full of implications and defeat. “You’re an amazing person. We could go somewhere I suppose. I went on a terrible date already. Got a threesome proposal. Cried in a Starbucks bathroom. Bought a new bottle of tequila and wine. Cried some more in my room. Walked Katsudon. Made out with my hot neighbor, whom I’ve had a crush on for a while. In conclusion, I don’t deserve you.”

The way his heart melted like wax should be illegal. Yet the outcome was _eggcellent._ Eggsactly as eggspected. Not really. Katsudon made it possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have developed this better but I was tired of looking at it, my writing gets progressively worse :/ so if u finished it, you deserve an award.  
> Edit: please point out mistakes I'm finding some and they're so blatant omg

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sober rn and I’m not surprised. Eating chipotle peppers from a can as we speak. [tumblr](http://dicktatorial.tumblr.com/)


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